


Behind the Barn

by Isabear



Series: Summer Pornathon 2014 [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, F/F, Femslash, Getting Together, Horses, Learning to read, POV Elena (Merlin), Summer Pornathon 2014, Team Gluttony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 09:17:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2223669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isabear/pseuds/Isabear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the day the new schoolmarm arrives from back east, Elena discovers she has a problem. Namely, this beautiful and perfectly put together woman is living under her roof.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind the Barn

**Author's Note:**

> Growlery is a huge Elena/Mithian OTPer, and I wanted to see what the fuss was about. They're surprisingly fun to write!
> 
> And yes, I'm wallowing in this trope. There is definitely not enough femslash for any of these Western tropes. Someone should get on that right now.

Elena was waiting for Elyan to re-shoe her horse when the carriage rolled into town. It belonged to Vivian, daughter of the mayor of Olaftown, down the road from Camelot City. The door sprang open to allow not Vivian but a smartly dressed, properly pinned brunette to step out. Her hat half-shaded her face, but it was obvious she had smooth skin and startlingly acute eyes, curiously taking in the town as the driver untied and brought down her luggage.

Elena stared.

Behind her, Elyan raised his head and snorted. "New schoolmarm I reckon, from one of those ladies' colleges back East. Hope she stays longer than the last."

Just like that, Elena's burgeoning hope turned sour.

Elyan noticed, of course. His face softened, though he didn't give her a pitying look. Instead, he gestured toward the house nearby.

"Why don't you go in and let Gwen see what she can do with your hair?"

Elena nodded, rubbing her sweaty palms on her trousers. She didn't even care that that probably meant she has pine needles in her hair again - Gwen could work magic.

 

Later, as she rode back to the ranch with fresh braids, almost ready to confront this new schoolmarm her father had decided to board, she considered how ironic it was that the first woman to catch her eye in years was also the only person in town who would care that Elena had failed 7th grade three times before giving up.

_"You're seventeen," her father had said. "What do you need an 8th grade education for anyway? You want to run this ranch when I'm too old to do it. As long as you can add and subtract the books, you'll do fine."_

And it was true. The failure just burned in her, some days.

Outside the barn, the horse-cart sat kitty-cornered, obviously having been used recently, or the hands would have put it away by now. There was also a sleek new chestnut mare, freshly rubbed down. She whickered softly as Elena and her gelding passed by.

In hindsight, Elena should have guessed.

The barn was dark and cool as she stepped inside. Someone was there already, a silhouette in a riding skirt, oiling an eastern saddle. It took a moment for Elena to connect the shape to the woman who had stunned her climbing from a carriage, and by the time she did, it was too late.

The woman looked up, her eyes reflecting a sliver of light from the door.

"Are you Elena, then?" she asked. "I'm Mithian Nemeth. Mr. Gawent said I could probably find you here."

Miss Mithian's voice was smooth and cultured, exactly what Elena had feared. Her belly fluttered, and she turned her face away, fumbling to pull the saddle off with suddenly-clumsy hands.

"I'm sorry," the voice came again, too close this time. "I didn't mean to startle you."

A pair of slim but not quite delicate hands reached up and loosened the last stubborn buckle, then dropped away as Elena pulled the rest of the tack off in one go, blanket and all.

"Since your father's giving me room here at the ranch, I hope we can get along," Miss Mithian said.

That, Elena thought, was not going to be the problem.

 

Early on, Miss Mithian discovered Elena's haphazard approach to personal hygiene and self-care. It took less than a week before they had an evening routine: Mithian would check Elena for scrapes or cuts she hadn't noticed, clean and cover them, then brush Elena's hair out for her. _Since you obviously won't,_ she said.

Elena pretended she suffered these attentions patiently, but the reality was that she suffered them with great impatience. Mithian's hands on various parts of her body, some quite intimate, treating Elena's skin as if it were some delicate piece of tack to be cared for. As if Elena herself were a prize filly to be brushed all sleek. It made her want to shiver, but the one time she'd done that, Mithian had asked if she were cold.

Only half a month into their routine, Elena already felt stretched thin, like she was clinging with her fingertips to the last shreds of something that might be her dignity but was more likely her reputation.

 

Of course one of the ranch hands told Miss Mithian about Elena's disastrous brush with education. And of course Mithian cornered Elena about it. In the barn. While she was in a stall checking one of the foals, so there was no escape.

"I can help," Mithian promised.

Elena finally snapped.

"Miss Nemeth," she said (because formal distance would help, right?) "I hardly need to spend my days reading novels. To run this ranch, I need to know horses, money, people, and the weather. I don't need to know books."

Far from being put off, Mithian smiled. "Consider it my payment for living under your roof. Your father isn't taking donations for my board, you know."

Elena bit her lip. Pa wouldn't approve of rudeness. "Fine, then. But only for a month."

 

Two months later, crammed into the tack room on a bench, Elena reflected that this was a new form of torture, different from the bandaging and hair-brushing. Worse than the time the two of them had ridden into town and been caught in a storm on the way back, Miss Mithian's dress drenched and clinging to her body in ways that Elena tried to block from her memory.

Elena stumbled over another simple word, and slender-but-not-delicate fingers touched the back of her wrist.

"Is something bothering you?" Mithian asked.

"No." Elena felt sullen, frustrated out of her normal good cheer.

The fingers paused, then wrapped around Elena's wrist, a thumb stroking the soft skin inside, just under her palm. Elena sucked in a sharp breath and held it.

Mithian's fingers began to loosen, so Elena reached out and grabbed her wrist in turn. Mithian looked up, eyes sharp on Elena's face. Then her expression softened.

She leaned in slowly, giving Elena time to retreat. Elena's heart beat triple-time, her palms sweating and her throat dry, but she leaned forward anyway, meeting Mithian's soft lips with her own.

The moments that followed were full of the shock of kisses, soft fingertips on her face, her neck, trailing over her bound breasts. Elena felt a moan slip from her mouth and pressed her legs together over the delicious ache there. Those knowing, unexpectedly strong hands slipped down her belly and right into the vee of her trousers, pressing tightly. With a half-sob, Elena pushed her face against Mithian's neck and held on as Mithian rubbed the heel of her hand against just the perfect spot and cupped the swelling folds of Elena's cunt beneath her britches.

"Oh," Elena whispered, then sucked in air sharply. Mithian was tugging her shirt out from her britches, sliding her suspenders off each shoulder and removing that amazing pressure for just long enough to slide her hand inside.

"Alright?" Mithian asked softly. Elena nodded, biting her lip to keep the sounds in.

It was strange, the familiar scent of hay mingled with the unfamiliar scent of herself, getting wet. She'd done this once or twice for herself but hadn't found it very appealing. But Mithian's hands were different, knowing and wise in the ways of Elena's body already, from the first touch.

Mithian slipped her free hand up inside Elena's shirt, grazing over the front of her bindings. Elena's breath hitched, her own hands drifting up to clutch at Mithian's waist, her prim, proper clothes that drove Elena mad. Pressing a clumsy kiss to Mithian's neck, she tried to sort out blouse from skirts.

"Sh," Mithian whispered. "Time for that later. Let me do this for you first."

'This' turned out to be curl her fingers in and speed up her motions, wrist circling rapidly. Elena was half on top of her now, turned sideways to keep from straining Mithian's wrist, but she couldn't help but arch up, gasping, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes as her belly clenched and unfolded in a startling wave of pleasure. And then again, then again, until she shut her eyes and sagged, eyelashes damp.

"That's my girl," Mithian whispered into her hair, holding her tight.

Elena let her eyes slip shut, thinking _Yes, yes, yours._

**Author's Note:**

> This was Year 6, Week 3, Entry #51. It's the expanded version.


End file.
